Tuesday, 16 February 2010

Moan, moan, moan.

So Hammersmith bridge is closed all this week for construction work (obviously I've read all that stuff about NOT GIVING AWAY TOO MUCH PERSONAL INFO ON YOUR BLOG so as to avoid stalkage, but frankly there is only one bookshop in Barnes, so a determined stalker could find us fairly easily if pressed). Hammersmith Bridge is closed, which means that I have to get out of Hammersmith Tube, and walk across the bridge to get a further bus. Not too bad in the big scheme of commuting, I agree, but it's all relative - I'm so used to a few stops on the tube, wander out to the bus stop, tra la la. This bungs a whole fifteen minutes of exercise into my day, both ways, and furthermore it was absolutely chucking down this morning, so I spent this morning's little journey doing exclamations of indignation in my head - to the point where I was worried I'd start saying them out loud. Rough transcript as follows:

Oh bugger, it's... it's running off my nose! It itches! But my hands are too wet to wipe my nose! GET OUT OF MY WAY! Why are people with umbrellas incapable of moving to one side to let you pass? IT IS ILLEGAL TO CYCLE ON THE PAVEMENT!!!!! My nose itches! IT ITCHES!!! No really, hit me with your umbrella!!! DON'T BOTHER STOPPING, IT'S ONLY A BUS STOP AND YOU'RE ONLY A BUS!!!!!!!! There's a wet patch on this seat! Is it... me?

And so forth. My inner monologue on the way to work (when not muffled by the louder voice of whatever book I'm reading) tends to be a thing of sleepy oh wowness since I'm not fully awake until I've had my first coffee at 9.30ish. Today I have morphed into my occasional alter ego Mrs Freakishly Short Fuse. Sigh.

At least its all in your head....and only occasional......and makes you have an understanding of those older ladies who witter away grumpily to themselves (and fart) as if they were the only people in the place......hang on ..... that might be me pretty soon.....and FOURTEEN QUID for an umbrella!!!!

You have my complete sympathy, Fishwife.Being rather older than you, I have matured my fury to an almost permanent condition which, oddly, is often at its richest (and most mad, I fully accept) when directed at completely harmless people sitting opposite or nearby on the train into work. Thank goodness for our gun laws in this country - without them, there'd be considerably fewer people travelling up from the Kent borders each morning, I can tell you.

As one who can only dream of living in London in *any* weather, I'd much rather be walking in the rain on Hammersmith Bridge than where I live in the U.S. Midwest. 'One woman's misery is another's bliss'...

Fran - I have one of those, it's called a "hat". It doesn't have a handle or ribs either, and it's made of fleece, but otherwise exactly like your umbrella. Only cheaper...

Usedbuyer - Yes I've heard about the vast savannahs of Seattle. Is it true you have to pipe your water in from Alaska?

Libby - Where are you poor sods getting ripped off £14 for an umbrella? I'd just hang around any shop and swipe one from inside the front door.

Katyboo - I found some Fendi on Amazon - looks like an actual shop selling it too. How about theperfumedcourt.com? They seem to have sample sizes of everything.

Sergeant Pepper - I did once inadvertently say "SLACK-JAWED TWAT" out loud, but the guy I said it to couldn't hear me over his BLOODY LOUD iPOD.

Rose - I was actually getting used to personal space on the pavements, if not the actual tube, but now it's like they've crammed us into a teeny walkway with opaque sand-filled puddles. So note to self: Don't wear those nice black suede boots you used to like.

Laura - Oh please stalk me, my life is very dull. Plus I know you don't want to skin me or brick me up behind a false wall (I'm presuming). Thanks for the exercise advice (AAAIIEEEEE) - I was hoping to avoid it unless it was leg-lifts on the sofa with a plate of pasta in one hand and the remote in the other.

Jamagenie - I swear, London isn't all that. I won't deny it's lovely, but secretly I want to be living in the South of France. Although most Londoners have similar dreams..

About Me

A veritable dustbin of sparkly factoids. Don't let the fact that I smoke Gauloises put you off. It's a habit, not an indication of moral turpitude. I like anything in a martini glass too.
I used to say I hated politics, sport and reality TV. Then the Olympics happened. Now I just hate politics and reality TV.
My favourite quote is "Why must you tell me all your secrets when it's hard enough to love you knowing nothing?" (Lloyd Cole, for you Google searchers). Optimist by nature, pessimist by experience. Oh, and I'm a ginger.

Asoala Daives (at least that's what the post office think she's called) and Mark X (because after the inevitable apocalypse surnames will be redundant as we chew on each other's rotting corpses). My manager, and her partner, my other manager.

Steak and Kidney = He's the lost Proclaimer triplet (or Frankie Boyle twin), only from Norn Iron, and she looks 15, the cow. Collectively cleverer than Ross, funnier than Phoebe, more competitive than Monica, sexier than Joey. And with a far FAR prettier baby than Rachel.

Ziggaaaah = one day, God willing, all women will be like this. Looks like an understudy Charlie's Angel. Used to be Mr Fishwife's friend till I stole her. Lives with a badger, and Snoopy.

Married Martyn, who used to be Inexplicably Single Martyn = Mr Fishwife's other best mate. A rather marvellous Kiwi girlfriend has, as they say on Facebook, changed his status.

My head bends sideways!

The author and friend demonstrate the letter T for you in the style of a bad Regency portrait.

Strange and oddly unrelated Google searches by which people have found my blog...

"pork pie sexual encounters"

"its hard to say words that is not final because many things happen in between"

"Fodens reliable ant"

"my wife say to ex i love you and to me say i love you"

"Frankie Boyle 2p sausage"

"crayon book pictures channelled whelk"

and a special apology to anyone who came here following the promise "Lucy has one of the hottest racks on the planet", IT'S NOT ME. THAT'S A WHOLE OTHER WEBSITE. Although my rack is epic in its own smalltown way.

He's one of us!!

Now I love him even more. If it turns out he also likes calvados, Nabokov and the TV works of Aaron Sorkin (what are the odds?) I will in fact lay down my life for him.

Role models I channel when necessary

Miss Prothero in "A Child's Christmas In Wales" by Dylan Thomas : "She looked at the three tall firemen in their shining helmets, standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving snowballs, and she said, "Would you like anything to read?" "

My mother the librarian, who can express displeasure with a very slight widening of the eyes. Invaluable for dealing with the general public.

My late paternal grandmother, a woman who consumed nothing but untipped Senior Service and gin 'n' sherry (aka "alkie's delight") and once drove down a 1:3 hairpin bend in her Reliant Robin with both hands in the air cackling "Of course, I'm COMPLETELY pissed".

Eleanor of Aquitaine - brought literature and table manners to Britain. And a fellow ginger.

Miss Jones from "Rising Damp". ...."Oh, Mr Rigsby, the music's gone to my head like wine!!!"

Lady Colin Campbell

Gertrude Elizabeth Blood, 1857 - 1911. I go and say hello to Gertie Lady C every time I'm near the National Portrait Gallery. The perspective is all wrong, but she's just daring you to have a go. A raised eyebrow says more than a thousand sarcastic put-downs.

Sei Shonagon (c.966 - 1017)

...also a big fan of pointless lists of things, although I have never reached the giddy heights of "Things that look a bit pathetic".

Esteemed Colleagues

Booksellers Anonymous

"Well, to be honest, after years of smoking and drinking, you do sometimes look at yourself and think...You know, just sometimes, in between the first cigarette with coffee in the morning to that four hundredth glass of cornershop piss at 3am, you do sometimes look at yourself and think...this is fantastic. I'm in heaven." - Bernard from Black Books

Fictional men I have had a crush on (in chronological order)

Asterix. I wrote a proposal of marriage, to me, from him, in yellow crayon and presented it to my mother. I was 4 at the time.

Snufkin.

Prince Gwydion of the Sons of Don.

Ged, aka Sparrowhawk, the Wizard of Earthsea (well, one of them).

Tintin. What can I say? I was 6.

Mr Knightley from "Emma". So much more appealing than the rebarbative and snotty Mr Darcy. Always marry your best friend.

Brat Farrar.

Steve Carella of the 87th Precinct.

Tom Ripley, eponymous hero of the Patricia Highsmith series. Not sure if I love him or secretly want to be him (how liberating would it be to just murder some complete stranger on a train because their clothes annoy you a bit?) Envy his cute french wife though.

Amit Chatterji. Honestly, how was he not the most suitable boy?????????

John Constantine, the old Hellblazer himself. Well, it'd be rude not to. He's hot! He's scruffy! He's British! He's a warlock! And he smokes! Although the fact that he seems only to smoke Silk Cut makes him oddly wussy.

Charlie Parker - not the jazz musician, the private eye from "Every Dead Thing" et al. Traumatised. Psychic. Mind you the fact that I have a crush on John Connolly, the author, may have a bearing on this.

Berry Rydell from "Virtual Light". Endearingly shambolic.

King Mob from "The Invisibles". Buff, bald, a trained assassin, and an inveterate quoter of The Kinks.

Dexter Morgan, unapologetic (nay, gleeful) serial killer from "Darkly Dreaming Dexter". The TV series got him wrong, even if it was great viewing. Should have been Brendan Fraser.

"Angel" by Thierry Mugler. Vile. Smells of the cat-hair-covered toffee you find down the back of the sofa. Also of ageing and desperate cabin crew.

The "Toast" catalogue. Smells of linseed oil and old haddock. WHY??? What are they printing it on? Or with???

Wet Barbour jackets, and don't kid yourself otherwise, Tarquin.

Things people do that make me want to slap them.

Shout "I can't believe you're doing this to me" at a traffic warden who is, usually deservedly, giving them a ticket. Believe it, love, the evidence is right before you.

Preface a question with "Question!"

Get grumpy about "too much choice" in bookshops etc. What the hell does "too much choice" mean??? I've started saying cheerfully "Absolutely! Bring in a totalitarian Communist state and you'll just have one book which you'll HAVE to read!"

Sulk. Irritating in a small child, positively BACKWARD in anyone over 15.

Use phrases like "it's not in my skill set" when they mean "I'm too idle/self-important to learn". Lucinda Ledgerwood, come on dowwwwwn!!